


An Unexpected Visiting

by ellisly



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Twenty Years Later, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellisly/pseuds/ellisly
Summary: It's been 20 years since the last Visting and Simon Snow certainly isn't prepared for what's in store, especially not the ghost of the Mage appearing in his kitchen.Basically, Simon gets some stuff off his chest and is living the domestic dream
Relationships: Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Shepard & Simon Snow, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	An Unexpected Visiting

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I've always imagined what would happen if Simon received a Visitor and what he might say so I decided to write it down. This is my first time writing a fic so please be kind! Thanks for reading <3

Simon

It’s nearly 3 in the morning when I slip out of bed and make my way towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water. Taking quiet steps, I’m careful to avoid the creaky floorboards as I pass through the hall and into the moonlit space. After having lived 12 years in the same old house, the path has become instinctual- muscle memory built from years of living with insomnia. It’s not as bad as it sounds, or at least it isn’t to me. My therapist says it could easily be taken care of with some melatonin or sleeping aids, but honestly I find it almost calming to be up at night, walking around in the peaceful quiet. 

The kitchen is awash in silver light streaming through the window and cold as a witch’s wit. Baz is always on about me leaving the windows cracked open but I could’ve sworn I shut it after he’d nagged me throughout dinner.

“Honestly Snow, your Watford-era habits have only strengthened in your old age.” he’d lamented, a glass of red wine tilted in his fingertips, peppered hair tucked behind his right ear.

“Oh, shut it Baz. You still use the same posh soap from school and leave salt and vinegar crisp crumbs on the floor so you’ve no room to talk.” I’d bitten back, a sly smile creeping across my lips involuntarily.

I move now to stand in front of the window but just as I thought, it remains closed. I shrug and step away; this house is some relic passed down through Baz’s family and probably as old as Merlin himself, I doubt the insulation is up to code.

On nights when I can’t sleep, I often grab a glass of water and settle into the couch, turning on the small lamp in the corner and picking up some classic that’s sure to bore me back to sleep. Baz says classics aren’t boring and that I’m just “incapable of appreciating and properly analyzing the depth of the detailed writings by some of history’s greatest authors” (yet another habit from school he’s failed to grow out of- teasing me relentlessly) but they always seem to do the trick.

Just as I finish filling my cup with water, a sudden, urgent chill runs up my spine freezing me in place.

“Simon?”

The cold words seem to sink into my skin, settling in my bones. I’d recognize that feeling anywhere. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

I whip around, my eyes immediately settling upon the translucent figure of the Mage. My cup clatters to the floor and all I can do is stare.

“Simon, my boy,” The Mage starts, still dressed in his ridiculous green tights and tunic, his lips parted in a surprised smile. “I’ve been searching for you since the veil thinned- I can’t believe I’ve finally found you!”

I must look ridiculous, standing here with my mouth hanging open, my arm still outstretched with nothing but the ghost of my drink in my grasp. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it had been 20 years since the last Visitings, but with all my work this fall plus the recent vacation Baz, Penny, Shep, Agatha, and I had gone on, I must have simply forgotten. I hadn’t really anticipated any visitors this time round, but never once did the thought of the Mage visiting cross my mind, not in twenty years. Merlin and Morgana, I had killed him after all. As I struggle to form a coherent thought or question, loud, thumping footsteps sound from down the hall.

“Simon, love, are you alright?” Baz asks, concerned, as he rounds the corner. “I thought I heard-” 

It would be comical how Baz’s voice freezes upon sighting the man in our kitchen if it weren’t for the fact that the man in question is the person Baz hates most in the world. A few years after that horrible Christmas day, the trip to America, and the whole Watford ordeal, the coven gathered Baz, Penny, and I and quietly broke to us that the mystery of my parentage had been solved. They had somehow found that the Mage had convinced my Mum, a young mage named Lucy Salisbury, that they were soon to be parents to the Chosen One, that they would save the world of mages together when I was born. But the spells he had cast on Lucy and I to ensure the prophecy backfired- Mum got sick and passed, leaving the Mage ill-equipped to handle a baby with too much power. So he left me, discarded me, as he searched for ways to fix me or train me or whatever the sick bastard believed he had to do to save the future of magic. And each year, when none of his plans worked, he would simply leave me again and start over. My own father, too obsessed with power to even care for me.

That night, after Penny had driven us back to the flat and we’d all taken turns cursing the mage in between shots of foul tequila, Baz held me tight to his chest in bed. After I’d all but cried myself to sleep, he wiped the tears from my cheek and pressed his lips to my forehead.

“I’ll never understand how that man could have ever hurt someone as perfect as you, Simon Snow,” he whispered. He pulled away and looked me in the eyes, his cold hands sliding up from around my waist to gently cup my face. “But you're safe now, love. He’ll never be able to hurt us again.”

The mage’s surprised smile slips from his face as he begins to take Baz in. “Simon, what's the meaning of this? What’s the Pitch boy doing here?”

I’ve never been as grateful for Baz’s quick, biting retorts as I am now (that’s a lie, I’m grateful for everything Baz does nearly all the time). “Well, Davy, seeing as how this is the home I share with Simon, I suppose it makes perfect sense that I’m here.” Baz’s voice drips with venom, words meant to sting, his lips turned into grimace. He moves to stand beside me and as the Mage watches him, it seems as though he’s startled, like he wasn’t expecting Baz to speak up.

“Simon, this must be a mistake, Baz is the enemy. He and his family stand for everything we’re against, for the safeguarding of magic, the exclusion of the weak. This must be a mistake! Simon, son-”

“I am not your son.” My head is down, my voice barely above a whisper but steady all the same.

“Simon, my boy, I-”

“Stop,” I shake my head. “I’m not your son, I’m not your boy, just stop.”

I look up to see the Mage’s face twisted with confusion, his brows drawn together and mouth parted questioningly. Besides me, Baz reaches for my hand, giving it a small, encouraging squeeze.

“Sir, I know the truth- about Lucy and me and my magic. I don’t know why you're here, if you want to send me on another quest or what but I-” I close my eyes and take a breath, trying to calm myself down. Even all these years later, finding the right words and thoughts can be hard for me. Every once in a while, I have to collect my feelings of too-much and really focus on the simple act of speaking. Baz rubs his thumbs across my knuckles and gives me a soft look. Crowley, I don’t know what I’d do without him. “I need to let you know that I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you but after everything you did to me- all the quests and training and lies- I needed it to stop, I needed you to stop. It took me a long time after to realize I wasn’t broken but Baz and Penny helped me get the help I needed, to move on. I’m better now, I’m happier than I ever was. I am truly sorry, I really am, but I’m not your son. I’m not your boy. I never was.”

The look on the Mage’s face as I finish is unreadable. He takes a deep breath, looking at Baz and I. I wonder what he sees; Does he catch our entwined hands and the rings on our fingers that glint in the moonlight? Does he see the grey hidden in my curls or in Baz’s frizzy hair? Or does he still see the feuding teenagers from Watford?

“Everything I did was for our magic, to protect those who were denied a chance to experience what it is to be a mage. Can’t you see that? I only ever tried to help you.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but all I can see is all the pain you caused. You hurt Lucy, Baz’s mum, Ebb, me, so many others. We never protected anybody.” My voice is starting to quiver and hot tears threaten to spill.

“Simon-”

“Simon has said he’s sorry, which I believe is far more than you deserve. I think it’s time you leave, Davy.” Baz’s voice is clear and dry, not an inch for discussion.

The Mage looks between the two of us once again, but this time I swear I can see a shadow of remorse cross his face. It’s an emotion I’ve never seen him wear.

“Very well then. Simon, I wish you the best of luck. Truly.”

“Goodbye, Sir.” I whisper, watching as his form slowly disappears in the moonlight.

As the Mage leaves, so does the chill that settled deep in my bones, and soon there remains no trace of the magician. All that’s left is Baz and I, our hands still clasped together. He looks again at me, his eyes soft and scrunched together, a worried line forming across his brow.

“C’mon, love,” I say quietly, leaning into him slightly, “let's go back to bed.”

Baz

All of last night, Simon was silent. After he’d led me back to our room, he simply let go of my hand and climbed under the heavy comforter, lifting up the corner, beckoning me to join him. I slid in next to him, taking a moment to look over him.

In all honesty, I don’t quite know how to comfort Simon at the moment, how to proceed. Simon’s been through years of therapy- long gone is the young man suffering silently with depression and anxiety, the after effects of years of trauma brought on from the man whom mere minutes ago was standing in our kitchen. He’s in a much better place, we both are (after the Watford ordeal and both of us coming to our bloody senses- finally admitting our true feelings instead of being fucking martyrs- Simon and I went to individual and couple’s therapy), but Crowley knows how to go about functioning after confronting your borderline-abusive father.

Simon, however, just stared back at me, fatigued but with the smallest hint of a sad smile adorning his lips. The past two decades have certainly been kind to Snow; his eyes are creased around the corners from years of sharing his blinding smile and his countless freckles have seemed to multiply (if that’s even possible), a constellation across his lovely tawny skin. I brought my lips to the cluster of moles on his cheek and pressed a small kiss onto them. Simon tucked his head beneath my chin, his favorite spot so it seems, and brought his arms around my waist, one sliding up to cradle the back of my head, the other fisting the back of my night shirt. I feel him take a deep breath and nestle impossibly closer to me.

“I love you, Simon Snow, always. I’ll always be here when you need me” I whispered into his curls, holding him until we both drifted back to sleep

...

I wake to a half-empty bed as I grumpily reach a hand around in hopes of finding Simon there next to me. His side of the bed is cold. I force myself up and slide on my charcoal house-slippers (a Christmas present from Bunce nearly 3 years ago), grabbing my favorite jumper from the dresser (It’s Simon’s and it smells faintly of him. Yes, I’m aware I’m disturbed).

I make my way towards the kitchen and immediately spot Simon bent over the stove. His golden curls are in a state of disarray, crushed on one side from sleep, and he’s wearing a ridiculous apron that states in a distastefully bold, red font, “kiss the chef”. Simon must have heard me approach because he turns his head and throws me a bright smile.

“Morning, darling. I’ve just started some eggs but I've got your cup all ready to go.” He gestures to the predetermined “blood cup” sitting on the dining table, just another common occurrence in the Snow-Pitch household.

Merlin, after nearly twenty years together, you’d think the sight of Simon Snow would have lost its effect on me but every time, I swear my heart stutters back to life for a mere second.

I haven’t moved yet. I feel as though I’ve come across a wild animal and I’m scared any sudden movement will spook it. I don’t know what I expected from Snow this morning but it certainly wasn’t this- breakfast and smiles and ridiculous cooking-attire. 

Simon scoops the eggs from the pan and divides them between two plates, places a few pieces of toast on each one, then grabs them and makes his way to the table. I follow behind him.

“Um, thanks Simon, you really didn’t need to go through all this trouble-” I start as we take our seats across from one another.

“I know but, y’know, I just like doing it. Helps me think and all that.” He grins at me again, shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

Merlin, give me strength. I must look pained as I search for a way to easily broach the subject of last night’s events because Simon cocks an eyebrow up at me as I flounder (I can’t say I’m not proud that he learnt the move from me even as he turns it against me).

“Simon, are you alright?” Right on Basil, way to emulate a sense of delicacy.

Simon, bless him, swallows his breakfast and looks down, the hint of a smaller smile in the corner of his lips. He chuckles lightly and looks back up at me again.

“It’s been killing you all night, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I exhale, the words falling out of my mouth with a sense of relief that he seems to understand my concern, “I just know last night must have been a lot for you and I was worried-”

“Baz, love, it’s okay.” Simon chuckles again, his hand reaching across the table and grasping mine. “Yes, it was unexpected, yes, I was a bit shocked but I think I’m okay, really. I was worried about you, actually.”

“About me? Why?” I ask incredulously. “You were the one who had to face your bastard of a father and apologize, which, in all honesty, he certainly didn’t deserve.”

Simon rubs his thumb in a slow circle on top of our clasped hands. “Well, he was your Mum’s murder, and I was remembering the night when we all found out- you had seemed so angry and upset then, I thought for sure you would’ve felt the same after you saw him last night.

“I was too busy worrying the same things about you”

We sit there in comfortable silence for a moment, just a couple of smiling husbands holding hands, eating breakfast, unbelieving in the ridiculousness of ourselves.

“A pair of splendid morons we are” I tease.

“At least we match,” he says back, getting up to set his plate in the sink.

I stand and follow him, resting my head upon his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist. “What you said last night, Simon, was beautiful. Even if I don’t think you ever needed to apologize, your words were sincere and so you.”

Simon tilts slightly and kisses the top of my head. “I dunno, It was just what I was thinking, what I’ve been thinking, for a while now. When he was alive I was so blinded by the idea of someone caring for me I refused to see him and his actions for what they were. Afterwards, I just hated him; I was filled with so much resentment, both at myself for trusting him and at him for using me, that it overwhelmed me, made me hurt the people who really cared for me.”

At this, Simon turns to face me fully, still wrapped in my arms, placing his hands lightly on my biceps. “It took a long time Baz but I think I’ve finally forgiven him, y’know? I realized just because we were blood didn’t mean he was my real family. And I just wanted him to know that I was sorry for how it all happened but that it was self-defense, me saving myself.”

I am in awe of this man, truly. “You did wonderfully, Simon.”

“You did too, Baz. I never thanked you for stepping in but I don’t think I would’ve been able to say what I needed to say if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’ll always be there for you Simon Snow-Pitch. You’ll never be able to rid yourself of me. Consider it payback for 5th year plus the added interest you owe me.” I tease.

Simon laughs and pushes me away, moving to clean up his breakfast mess. As he begins to wash the plates and pans, I take my spot next to the drying rack and grab a towel.

“What do you think of having everyone over for dinner tonight, maybe we could play some games? I’ll make roast and that cake you like.” Simon asks.

“I think that’s a grand idea.”

...

Simon

Penny and Shep show up to the house just as I pull the cake out of the oven, letting themselves in with the key we gave them, shouting a quick “Hello!”. Penny, her unruly hair pulled back into a bun with a few loose curls framing her face, gives me a tight hug and hands me a bottle of some posh wine I’m sure Baz will appreciate. She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t say anything. Baz likely told her what happened last night. Not many years ago, Penny would have been pelting me with question after question, demanding I tell her everything. Now, however, she’s gotten better with learning how to deal with more delicate situations.

Shep steps in to pull me into a “bro-hug” or whatever the Americans call it. “Simon! Good to see you man.”

“You too Shep! How’s work been going?”

After the battle at Watford, the coven decided that rather than attempting to wipe Shep’s memory and send him back to the Normal world they would put his American contacts to use. Shep works as a liaison of sorts, helping the coven get in touch with Speakers and other magical creatures in America if needed.

“You know, the same old same old. I might get to go see Maggie next month, I’ll be sure to tell her you said hi.”

“Merlin, you better not Shep,” I shudder. I’d rather forget that whole exchange. Though I suppose she wouldn’t be quite as interested in me now that I’ve gone and had Dr. Wellbelove remove my extra appendages.

We make our way to the dining table where Baz and Agatha have dinner all set up. Agatha arrived earlier this afternoon to help me cook dinner, a sort-of tradition of ours. After she finished school in California and moved back here, she asked me to show her how to bake sour-cherry scones (I finally got Baz to have Cook Pritchard send me her recipe after. Baz said it's the worst thing to have ever happened to his physique). Since then, it's just been something we do together, cooking up recipes old and new.

“Hello, Bunces,” Baz says, setting down the last of the forks

“Oh, come here Basil, stop trying to act all cool.” Penny huffs, walking towards Baz with her arms spread wide.

“I see Shepard’s appalling American phrasing has taken its hold over you,” Baz jabs back, though it lacks any sting- fondness easily rounds out his tone. He grins as he falls into her arms. 

Penny then moves on to see Agatha and Shepard greets Baz. Everyone’s here, at our table, happy and laughing. I can’t believe I used to think I would never see this day, that I thought it would end with the Humdrum or some Big Bad that was Bigger and Badder than the rest. Instead, I wake up everyday next to the man I love with my friends no farther than a half hour away. I go to work at a job I love, come home to hold my husband or hang out with my friends, and repeat all the next day. I wake up alive in every sense of the word.

Shep and Penny, hand in hand, are in the middle of an animated conversation with Agatha, who laughs and tosses her nearly white-blond hair over her shoulder. Baz has made his way to the other side of the table, next to me. He places a cold hand around my back, settling it on my hip. I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder (one of the only benefits to our height difference, in my opinion. Baz loves that he’s taller than me, pointing it out regularly, the git).

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

I look up to him and I know he spots the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. I give him a smile, a genuine, Simon-patented smile.

“That I’m with my family and I couldn’t possibly be happier”


End file.
